Remembrance
by CrazyTaraWitch
Summary: Delenn and Susan remember. Set after "Sleeping in Light"


Note: This story was inspired by the fic "Still Living" by Leyenn ( /works/15170), which is probably a good deal better than mine, so you should go read it.  
>This is a one-off, entirely sparked by reading that story last night.<p>

* * *

><p>On the 6 month anniversary of John's death, Susan showed up on my doorstep. We worked closely together and often had meals together, but showing up at each other's homes was rare. She said nothing of why she was there, but I knew.<p>

She brought two bottles with her, and handed one to me, explaining it was something called Sparkling Cider, a drink human children often drank at celebrations in place of alcohol. Her own bottle was champagne, which I remembered John drinking one year when we celebrated Earth's New Year's. She insisted that now six months had passed, the grieving period was over, and it was time to celebrate his life instead of mourning.

We sat around for hours, telling stories, laughing, and crying more than once. I liked the idea of honouring his passing and remembering the good, but I was not so sure I was to get on with my life. Somehow, 20 years' preparation still hadn't been enough to accept that my life would go on without him.

I knew Susan missed him too, despite her words of moving on; he may have been the dearest friend she ever had, save one. I could see in her eyes there was still a sadness, even as she drank her champagne and toasted the main we had both lost. And there was another sadness behind, older and deeper, from a wound long unhealed.

Finally, as evening drew on to night we both grew quiet. Before she left, I asked her quietly, "Will it ever get easier?"

She met my gaze, and I saw the sadness was no longer hidden in her eyes. "There are some loves you don't get over."

* * *

><p>By the time the Autumn of 2284 arrived, Susan had been my closest companion for some time, and I liked to think I knew her well. David was grown and living his own life, and Susan had no family or other close friends on Minbar, so in many ways we were all the other had. As the season changed and the days and weeks wore on, she withdrew more and more. She was still attentive in meetings, and we continued to work well together as we always had, but there were no more dinners shared, no more evenings spent in each other's company.<p>

I began to feel lonely, but much more than that I was worried for my friend. I knew something was wrong, but Susan was so guarded that I didn't know how to reach out to her.

Finally, a day came when she could not hide her pain. I had seen it in her eyes so clearly only once before, on the night we had celebrated John and ended our mourning. I was certain then there must be something I was missing, some pain from her past that was calling to her now.

On Minbar, our rituals are not so tied to dates as they are on Earth, but I had lived with a human long enough to understand that memories were often tied to days; Susan had already shown that to be true for her in coming to me six months after John's passing. On Earth, it would be November now, and I did my best to think back through all the Novembers I had known her.

When it hit me, I felt a fool for not realizing before.

A few hours later I showed up on her doorstep. Finding alcohol had proved impossible, but I brought with me a bottle of Sparkling Cider, as Susan had once done for me. She let me in without a word.

Each with a glass in hand, we settled into the couch. Susan seemed lost in her memories and almost oblivious to my presence, yet she gave no indication that she wished me gone. The minutes stretched between us and finally I spoke.

"25 years."

She took a gulp of her drink, and I knew she wished it carried a kick instead of a sparkle. "25 years," she agreed.  
>"Did you know she was only 25? She was so poised, so sure of herself, I thought she was older. It was only after she was gone I realized how young she had been. It was right before her birthday; she would have been 26 before Hannukah. But as it is… It's been half a lifetime. Hers, and mine. Half a lifetime since that one perfect night with her before everything went to hell. So why am I sitting here? Why do I still ache for what I only had for one fleeting moment? Why can't I just let her go?"<p>

I smiled at her sadly. "There are some loves you don't get over."


End file.
